


An Alien Again

by cardassianfamilyvalues



Category: Animorphs - Katherine A. Applegate
Genre: Book 54: The Beginning, Gen, characters talking a lot, meta disguised as fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-20
Updated: 2019-07-20
Packaged: 2020-07-09 08:08:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,929
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19884385
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cardassianfamilyvalues/pseuds/cardassianfamilyvalues
Summary: Aximili adjusts, Alloran broods, Andalites are arrogant.





	An Alien Again

<How do you feel, Prince?>

<Tired, mostly,> Aximili answered.

<Yes, the War Council will do that to you,> Mirinian-Arath-Nasgur said. The professor looped one of his eye stalks around itself. It was a gesture similar to the human custom of ‘rolling the eyes,’ but with a more specific connotation of exhaustion with pompous authority. It was an Andalite gesture closely honed after a century of military rule. In his younger days, Aximili would have found cynical and disrespectful. But now he knew better. <What are the those mangy-hairs in a twist about this time?>

<Earth, what else?> Aximili gestured with his left eye stalk in a way that meant “helpless bemusement.” Humans could only do a few gestures with their eyes (blink, roll, squint, and that ugly act known as ‘wink’) and he had almost forgotten the complex rhythm of Andalite eyes. <They’re obsessed. Paranoid. They think it’s the center of the galaxy. Even more than humans do themselves.>

<You’ve got to expect it,> Professor Mirinian said. <An alien child and a disgraced prince showing them up at what was supposed to be the spectacular climax of their glorious intergalactic saga? It’s a wonder they didn’t Quantum Earth right then and there out of pique.>

<Now that the Yeerks are gone, they don’t know what to do with themselves,> Aximili said. It felt freeing to put into words the doubts that had been jostling around in his mind. Strange, but freeing.

<The military was every ambitious colt’s key to advancement and power for over a century,> Mirinian said. <Now, who knows? Are they just going to give that all up to become _estreen_ dancers and stone gardeners? Unlikely.>

<I don’t trust them,> Aximili burst out. There. There it was. He had to be brave enough to say it. He’d allowed himself a few years to crash. To embrace the joys of being _home_ , at last, in peace and security. To let other people struggle. He had come to realize it was in his nature to look for someone else to tell him what to do. But that was a boy’s attitude, and now he was a man.

<Then why do you keep participating in their de-briefings?> Professor Mirinian’s eye stalks were glaring directly into his. That was an expression humans and Andalites shared.

<A sense of responsibility.>

<To what?>

<The electorate.>

<But you just implied you don’t think the Council is carrying out the best interests of the electorate.>

<The chain of command.>

<You’re _the_ Aximili, young man! You could be running rings around those dull-hooves if you wanted.>

<No, I couldn’t!> Aximili burst out. He hated how young he sounded. Young and petulant. <Fame and glory are different from power.> There, that sounded more mature. Aphoristic, even.

<Truer words were never spoken,> Professor Mirinian said with an air of approval.

They had reached the end of the path. A meadow stretched out before them, purple with _mixla_ leaves and _huva_ vines. The small curve of a scoop could be discerned in the distance.

<I suppose I’ll leave you here,> Mirinian said. The air of approval had transformed into an air of _dis_ approval. No one approved of these visits Aximili made.

Aximili wended his way toward Alloran’s scoop. This had become a routine meeting every half-moon. It made everyone assume that they were _shorm_ or something. Especially after Alloran had so dramatically defended his honor in front of the entire brass. But really it was an awkward ritual born out of obligation. He owed Alloran for that heady, exhausted, bloody day on Earth, when Alloran had backed him against the whole Andalite hierarchy. He owed Alloran _something_ for those years Alloran had spent with Visser Three wrapped around his brain- those years Aximili could have put a stop to with one sharp blow of his tail, if he had been bold enough. For those years that no one else on the homeworld could ever understand.

But as far as their _personal_ relationship went—no, Aximili did not enjoy these visits.

* * *

<I hated your brother, you know,> Alloran said.

Aximili said nothing. What was there to say?

<Self-righteous little twerp. Doomed me to years of torture. But who listens? The people love their valiant war-prince. But when it comes to me, oh no, it’s _brutality_ this and _unhinged_ that and they all pretend to give a damn about the Hork-Bajir. Hypocrites. The public wants galactic domination without having to get their tails dirty. Well, I was their sacrifice.> Alloran’s eye stalks drooped. <Me and the Hork-Bajir. And what can I do about that now? In a thousand lifetimes, I could never reverse that.>

Again, Aximili stayed silent. What Alloran said was true. But after three years of fighting side-by-side with free Hork-Bajir, Aximili found it difficult to stomach Alloran’s endless self-pity about the quantum virus.

“Ax,” Cassie had told him once, long ago. It had been one of those quiet, intimate moments in the Hork-Bajir valley, an escape from the horrible suspended dread they all felt. “I think sometimes when Andalites feel guilty, they try to make that guilt about themselves. Not about the people they’ve hurt. Not just Andalites,” she’d said as she’d seen him stir and prepare to respond, “everybody does it to a greater or lesser extent. Humans. Especially Americans, maybe. But it doesn’t help the victims and in the end it doesn’t do you guys any favors, either.”

<I really hated your brother,> Alloran said. He laughed his bitter laugh. <Nothing to say, oh great war-prince Aximili-Esgarrouth-Isthill? You _surpassed_ your brother, didn’t you? You and your little band of humans. Well, it wasn’t _your_ band, was it? It was your Prince Jake who was the ringleader. Not that the war council likes to admit it.>

“Ax,” Rachel had told him once, “Andalites are the most self-centered assholes in the galaxy.” _Rachel_. The name tugged at his heart.

<I was proud to follow Prince Jake,> Aximili said firmly. <Those humans were the greatest warriors I have had the honor to fight with.>

<You may very well be right about that,> Alloran said. <Although I will admit, some of their tactical decisions left me rather puzzled.>

<They were only children, Prince Alloran,> Aximili said. _We_ were only children, he thought to himsef. <And they didn’t even have what little military experience I did. And yet they took down the Yeerks once and for all, which is more than the Andalite military was able to manage in decades, with all the resources of the home world behind them!>

<The humans had the Ellimist on their side, if what you say is true,> Alloran said.

<It is,> Aximili said defensively. His tales of the Ellimist had led to a lot of derision from the more secular-minded Andalites.

<Oh, I trust you. Believe me, I have far more experience of the Ellimist than I ever wanted. What I could tell you about your brother and the Ellimist and Visser Three the abomination . . . or was _I_ the abomination? I was never sure . . .>

Alloran paused dramatically. The silence hung in the air. Aximili was fairly certain he would lose the ability for thought-speech altogether if he stayed around Alloran long enough.

<And now the superstitious have gone Ellimist-mad and declared you a new prophet, a phenomenon which I blame entirely on you.>

<I never asked to be their Jesus,> Aximili said. That was what Marco had said, when he had messaged Marco to tell him about it. “Tell them you don’t want to be their Jesus, Ax-man! I don’t want you ending up on a cross. I have enough troubling getting Jake to climb off _his_ cross.”

<What?> Alloran said.

<Jesus. One of the humans’ gods. He is the god of sporting events, I believe. And trees. Humans decorate trees on the anniversary of his birth.> That Alloran didn’t know this bothered him. He had lived on Earth for as long as Aximili, after all, and the Yeerks _had_ infiltrated some religious institutions. <Did Visser Three have no knowledge of human religion?>

Alloran laughed—not a bitter laugh this time, but a real, hearty laugh. <Visser Three did not have knowledge of anything much. I remember the trees, though. Fake trees! Andalites would never accept such a thing.> He fixed his eye stalks on Aximili. <Would you believe there was a time when Visser Three was not a complete idiot?>

<Honestly?> Aximili said. <I would not.>

<Well, it is true. Promotion encouraged his worst instincts. And he was aggressively disinterested in humans.> Alloran paused. <But he was _obsessed_ with Andalites.>

<Was he?> Aximili said. He wanted to hear more about Visser Three, but Alloran’s stories always ended up being horrible.

<Oh, yes. He spent years studying Andalites. He thought Andalites were the greatest creatures in the galaxy, and he thought capturing an Andalite body was his greatest achievement. In that, he and the Andalite command were in total agreement.> He paused again. <He had possessed an Andalite body before me, briefly. Aldrea. She was wild, that one. She was crazed, and if I had listened to her hundreds of thousands of Hork-Bajir would still be alive.>

<I know of Aldrea-Iskillion-Falon,> Aximili said. <The Hork-Bajir told her story to Tobias, who repeated it to us. And I was there when her _Ixcila_ possessed the human Cassie.>

<What did you think of her?> Alloran said.

<She was . . . not entirely sane,> Aximili said. <I had difficulty trusting her. Especially as she was the daughter of Prince Seerow.>

<Did it occur to you that _she_ might have trouble trusting _you_ , the brother of the man who broke the law of Seerow’s Kindness?> Alloran said.

<Yes, that is what Aldrea said,> Aximili said. <Then she fired on an Andalite vessel and pretended it was an accident. I did not know how to feel about her. She was disloyal and manipulative. I do not think she really cared for anyone but her Dak Hamee.>

<Ahh, yes. Dak Hamee.> Alloran twisted his eye stalks in an irritated way. <I remember him as well. If the two of them had been willing . . . you know, it was not me who released the virus at all, in the end. It was one of those Hork-Bajir fools . . . fools, all of us . . . me and Seerow and Aldrea and your brother . . . not to mention you . . .>

<She abandoned her people for the Hork-Bajir,> Aximili said. <But in the end she did not even respect the Hork-Bajir, not really. No, I did not trust her.>

Alloran said, <I would not be too harsh on her. You should hear what the high command has to say about _you_.>

<Humans are not Hork-Bajir,> Aximili insisted.

<No, they are not, are they? _Ax_?>

<And I am not a _nothlit_.>

<No, but your comrade-in-arms was. Tobias? What did you call him? Your _shorm_?>

<That is also not the same. He was an Andalite, in a way.>

<An Andalite “in a way” is not an Andalite. An Andalite who is a _nothlit_ is not an Andalite. The product of a human and an Andalite in _nothlit_ is not an Andalite. An Andalite who spent years as the slave of a Yeerk is not an Andalite. And an Andalite who loves humans better than his own species, _Ax_ , is not an Andalite. I hope you learn that before you come to grief.>

<Do you want me to be a good little Andalite warrior, then?> Aximili asked.

<Ah, sarcasm. Another human trait. Enjoy your cinnamon buns and your soap operas while you can, before you destroy yourself as I did. As your brother did.>


End file.
